The Blind Beggar

Each morning as I go to school. 

If I am not too late.

I stand to watch the beggar man. 

Beside the temple gate,

He always sits in the same place,

He has nowhere to live.

He sits and clanks his begging bowl,

And cries to all to give.

I must not poke the beggar-man;

I must not mock his cry;

He has not friends to keep him good,

And tidy, that is way.

He cannot see the city domes,

And clear blue sky behind.

He cannot see me stand because,

That beggar-man is blind,

And though his voice his hoarse and loud, 

And though he cannot see,

God loves that poor old beggar-man,

As much as he loves me.

- Mary Dobson